


baby if you hang around, i can see it going down

by gingermaggie



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Alternate Universe - The Bachelor Fusion, F/M, Reality TV, Social Media, the bachelor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingermaggie/pseuds/gingermaggie
Summary: Rebecca does not apply to be on the Bachelor just because Josh Chan is going to be the leading man looking for love. That would be crazy. So it’s no big deal when it turns out that was just a rumor and the actual Bachelor is some guy no one’s ever heard of.Because she’s not here for Josh. Definitely not.
Relationships: Rebecca Bunch/Nathaniel Plimpton
Comments: 29
Kudos: 55





	1. Before the Bachelor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [callmemaib](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmemaib/gifts).



> *shows up to crazy ex-girlfriend ao3 months after the series finale with a monster of a bachelor au fic*
> 
> The Google Keep note I originally made for this fic is dated July 2018, so I guess that’s around when I started working with the concept. Honestly, I completely forgot about it shortly after writing the initial plot bullet list, but [Mairead](https://call-me-maib.tumblr.com) resurrected it into my memory at some point months later. Based on the creation date of my OneDrive document, probably like January 2019. Note, then, that this story existed long before the ill-advised and ill-fated Bachelor exercise on the show. AUs forever.
> 
> I'm so excited about this story! It is without a doubt the biggest most intensive highest-effort fic I've ever tried to write, and actually probably the biggest most intensive highest-effort writing project I've ever attempted. So yeah, it's taking me a minute, particularly because I wanted to have the whole (insane, who knows how many words, 13-chapter) thing done before I started posting to ensure I didn’t flake out halfway through. But then I got impatient and Mairead convinced me to go wild and post chapter 1, even though I don't know when the rest will arrive. Oops.
> 
> If you think for a second that I've done any research into the application, filming, or production process of anything in the Bachelor franchise, you don’t know me at all. I only ever and will only ever research obscure, minute, and arbitrary details for fics. There's always a possibility I hit on something real about it or picked something up from internet osmosis, but I basically just did whatever I wanted to suit my own nefarious needs. Which is how I assume the Bachelor works too. 
> 
> Without further ado: Let’s watch some assholes fall in love! 
> 
> \---
> 
> Title is from “Make Out” by Rixton, which is infuriatingly not on Spotify? But is a banger. [YouTube it. The acoustic version, it’s better.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flMP96KddoA) Also, the band is called Push Baby now. So that’s...something.

There are two different facts at play here.

One: Rebecca applied to be on the Bachelor. Honestly, the most surprising thing about the whole situation is that she’s never thought to apply before. She’s been watching the show for upwards of 10 years, finding herself charmed and intrigued by Bachelors, Bachelorettes, and Paradise-dwellers alike. It just seems so _perfect._ A time and space devoted to the pursuit of love and nothing else. So, she applied.

Two: Rebecca briefly dated Josh Chan as a teenager, back when they went to the same theater camp one summer. They broke up when camp ended, and they lost touch, but—he was kind of her first real love.

These two incidents are not related.

Yes, Rebecca applied for the Bachelor. Yes, Rebecca has a history with Josh Chan. _That_ Josh Chan, better known to the public as Josh C., the fan-favorite dancing tech-store manager from the last season of the Bachelorette.

He’d been eliminated a few weeks in, but his easygoing charm and frankly gorgeous body made him the perfect candidate for the new Bachelor season. _Everyone_ was sure it was going to be him. Twitter was abuzz with speculation and near-guarantees, especially after ABC confirmed that he wouldn’t be appearing on Bachelor in Paradise.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” Rebecca assures the casting director, looking back and forth between her and the producer.

The casting director—Mrs. Hernandez, as she’d sternly introduced herself—does not look impressed. But to be fair, she hasn’t looked impressed, or enthused, or... _kind_ , for that matter, at anything Rebecca has said.

“So, you’re _not_ a crazy ex-girlfriend?” she asks, seeming unconvinced.

“What? No!” Rebecca says. “That’s so—why would you even say—no! I’ve wanted to be on the Bachelor for _years_ , long before _Josh_ was ever on Bachelorette. I’m just totally excited about the possibility of finding love! Let me assure you, I am _very_ open to a connection with the Bachelor. Even if it’s not Josh.”

“Really?” Mrs. Hernandez says. “Because you’ve been talking about him for seven of the ten minutes we’ve been having this interview.”

“Oh my gosh, Mrs. H, stop being so mean,” the producer, Paula, cuts in. “We literally require applicants to disclose any history with former contestants. You _literally_ asked.”

A wave of relief goes through Rebecca.

“Thank you,” she tells Paula, and the other woman smiles, maternal and affectionate.

It’s not the first act of kindness she’s encountered in the several rounds of the casting process she’s endured, but—it’s close. Rebecca wanted to go on this journey to _find love_ , and it was disappointing to find that a lot of the behind-the-scenes people just seemed to want to get the job done and throw something dramatic on-screen.

“I like you, Rebecca,” Paula says. “You’ve got— _it_. The passion. The spunk. The desire for true love. Am I wrong?”

“No!” Rebecca says quickly, eyes wide, shaking her head. “No, not at all! I am so totally ready for my soulmate.”

Mrs. Hernandez rolls her eyes, but Rebecca’s attention is focused on Paula, who is staring back at her with more intensity than Rebecca is used to seeing outside of the mirror. “Then let’s find him,” she says, and Rebecca can almost feel the glitter exploding inside her again.

*****

**Who’s The New Guy? – Meet The Surprise Bachelor Nathaniel Plimpton III!**  
_Jordan Ashley, Staff Writer_

It’s that time of year again, Bachelor Nation! I won’t begin this article with trite little openers about the wait being over or filling that shopping cart with wine, because I think we are all too busy being SHOOK.

In a huge real-life plot twist, ABC announced today that the new Bachelor would, against all odds and speculation, NOT be break-dancing, sweet-smiling, fan-favorite Josh Chan. In fact, our new leading man is BRAND NEW to the Bachelor franchise.

That’s right! We have on our hands a Bachelor Virgin! (Not to be confused with Virgin Bachelor, aka Colton Underwood.) Nathaniel Plimpton III is his name, and he is not only completely new to reality TV, he is apparently allergic to social media, because I can’t find ANYTHING about him on Google except stuff about his job—he’s a partner at his family’s law firm, Plimpton, Plimpton, & Plimpton, if you were curious, which I wasn’t, particularly. I’m far more curious about how he snagged television’s most coveted job: falling in love in front of millions of strangers.

So, who is this new guy? Speculation is rampant and suspicion is the mood of the day, if #TheBachelor on Twitter is any indication. “I don’t trust him,” declared Twitter user @buddyboot3, and user @penelopeebunce even went so far as to suggest nefarious motivations behind his selection: “Oh great, another straight white bachelor. Yippee. Should have known ABC wouldn’t have the balls to pick @JoshCDance smh.”

Others put forth different perspectives, like users @ashtonwentz and @hhhshoop:

**Imogene** _@ashtonwentz_  
conspiracy theory: nathaniel is secretly darryl whitefeather’s illegitimate son and that’s why he gets to circumvent the bach hierarchy #thetruthisoutthere #TheBachelor

**kat** _@hhhshoop_  
Wow is this some sort of desperate move to help #thebachelor ratings ?? who is this guy?

“We’re always looking for new ideas, new stories, new kinds of people to bring into this unique experience,” says Paula Proctor, a producer for the show. “And Nathaniel really is different than any Bachelor we’ve had before. The fact that he’s never had an experience like this really allows for a new perspective in the lead.”

The jury is still out on how much a fresh face will do to reinvigorate the arguably stagnant Bachelor model. I myself am split about 50-50. On the one hand, I don’t want to have to build investment in a new character (as it were) _while_ rooting for him to fall in love instead of rooting for him to fall in love _because_ I’m invested in him. On the other hand, at least it isn’t, like, Trent or somebody. (If you don’t remember Trent, the creepy creepy man who somehow made it to top six in Makayla’s season, I envy you and your presumably nightmare-less sleep at night.)

Anyway, at the end of the day, our new Bachelor is our new Bachelor and obviously we’re all going to watch it, bitches. This is essentially a cult.

So, what does our new Bachelor think about all this?

“Nathaniel is so excited to begin this journey,” says a source close to the man himself. “He’s really ready to take a chance and find love.”

—

_Jordan Ashley can be reached at jashley@realitea.com or on Twitter @jordanspillstea. _

*****

“Explain to me again how this happened,” Nathaniel snaps, tugging irritably at his tie.

Tim blinks at him, all confusion and general incompetence. “Sorry?”

“Why the _fuck_ ,” Nathaniel says, “is this _happening?”_

Now Jim pipes up. “The meeting for the Henderson Valley case?” He glances at his watch. “We’re going over the precedent again. We’re supposed to be in the conference room in—”

Nathaniel huffs out a breath. “Not _that,_ you imbeciles. I mean _this_.”

He swivels his computer screen to present an obnoxiously large and hot pink headline. _ALL THE DISH ON THE DELISH NEW BACHELOR_ , it promises. Beneath that is a photo of him. Based on his apparent age, it’s from college, and he’s smirking at something off-camera, more than likely a girl he ended up fucking within the next twenty minutes. He’s never seen the picture before, which makes the whole thing more annoying. Some shithead ex-classmate of his probably made some good cash selling a candid shot of his former captain to this trashy gossip site. This is the last thing he needs.

“Well, you’re the Bachelor,” Jim says, slow, like he doesn’t understand what the big deal is. “Articles about you kind of come with the territory.”

Nathaniel is going to fire someone by the end of the day. Just out of general irritation. It’s inevitable.

“And tell me, tweedle dee and tweedle _dumbass_ , whose fault is it that I am being forced to traipse about on television like some halfwit who can’t hold down a real job?”

The two men exchange an uncertain look. At least they’re intelligent enough to pick up on the fact that there is no good answer to that question.

Officially, they—Tim and Jim—were the ones who reached out to the show and put him into consideration. If you were being fair about it, they were operating on orders from Nathaniel himself, but he didn’t particularly care about being fair. Especially because that course of action was so obviously not what he fucking meant.

He’d meant—something else. Anything else. A professional matchmaking service. A dating app. A networking event. Not the fucking _Bachelor franchise._

Fuck. He didn’t even want a girlfriend. A wife. Whatever. He was just trying to get his father off his back.

Nathaniel Senior, for once, was playing the oh-so-helpful messenger for his wife—instead of the typical other way around. Of course, he was doing so in the most distant yet disapproving and guilt-inducing way possible.

“Your mother is worried about you,” he’d said. “She thinks you are...lonely.”

Nathaniel had barely taken the time to process the statement, digging through the reports that had arrived on his desk that morning, looking for the information he assumed his father was calling about. “I’m fine, Pop,” he’d said. “Ah, here it is. The ruling on the Brumbaugh case suggests—”

“I’m not through, Nathaniel,” his father interrupted, voice icy and crawling as ever. “You are rapidly approaching 30. You are wasting your apparently _excessive_ free time on a variety of loose women, and it is distressing your mother. If you are unwilling to settle down and commit to a relationship, it appears to our partners and clients that you are globally incapable of fidelity and attention.”

Ah. There it was. The real scope of the problem: the impact on the firm. Nathaniel felt silly for believing even for a second that his father might care about his mother’s opinions or emotions. She was just the inciting incident. The foot in the door, meant only to deflect Nathaniel’s gaze long enough that his father could smack him while he was off guard.

“Pop, I—”

“I don’t have time for a discussion on this, Nathaniel,” his father said. “Hear me, and deal with it. It’s time to be serious.”

With that, the line went dead.

“Fuck,” Nathaniel had said to his empty office.

It wasn’t as if he had time to deal with—whatever the hell his father wanted him to do with that information. So he’d called in Tim and Jim, which—he hated them as a unit, with their absurd rhyming names and terrible chatty dynamic, but they were stupid enough as individuals he kept holding out hope that teamwork would improve them. Anyway, he’d held them at attention on the other side of the desk and kept his instructions brief.

“My father is concerned that my relationship status projects a lack of commitment to potential clients. He expects something to be done to mitigate that, and I am too busy _actually running this firm_ to pursue a solution. So I’m _delegating_. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Tim said. “So, does that mean—”

“Out,” Nathaniel had said, reaching for his phone. “I’m busy.”

Maybe that was his big mistake. But, fuck, did he have to spoon-feed them instructions?

He’s not even sure where they got the idea—if they actually buckled down and did some research that led to this plan, or if they just saw a commercial or an ad soliciting applications and decided to cut out the middleman in their first and most useless show of initiative ever. Either way, the producers responded with enthusiasm to the offer of a rich, attractive, shocking new Bachelor to shake up the fanbase and drive up viewership and ratings.

If things had progressed even a little bit differently, it never would have gotten to this point. Nathaniel would have stopped it. He would have declined, respectfully. He would have told them to fuck off. He would have gotten out of it.

But if the devil worked hard, Jim and fucking Tim worked faster.

Before he could get a handle on the situation, it spiraled out of control and into his father’s sphere of awareness. Nathaniel still feels the shadow of the sick horror that had settled in his bones when his father had called him, voice cool, and asked, “What’s this I hear about you and...reality television?”

The conversation didn’t go exactly where he expected, from there. Apparently, the PR people his father keeps on retainer to ensure the excellence of the Plimpton image claimed it was a great idea. That it would promote the firm and humanize the family. Nathaniel thinks that in the right light that could maybe, possibly be true. Or at least, in the right light, he thinks the morons actually believe it.

His father doesn’t. He knows that for a fact. Nathaniel Senior thinks it is a ridiculous, frivolous, asinine waste of time, and likely a complete and utter embarrassment for anyone involved. He hasn’t said so, but Nathaniel knows. He _knows_.

The only reason his father hasn’t put a stop to the whole mess—has officially sanctioned it, even—is because he’s fully aware Nathaniel can feel his disapproval. This is a punishment, and Nathaniel just wishes he knew what for. Like any other time, he assumes it’s for being something less than the perfect son, but there’s usually some sort of direct precursor to a disaster of this magnitude.

All else aside, Nathaniel knows there’s no getting out of it now. They’re too far gone. He just has to put his head down and get through it. It won’t even be difficult. He knows all his lines, knows the role well enough. He can be charming. He can be flirtatious. He can be a catch. He _is_ a catch. He’s rich, handsome, successful, smart. He could win over these women, these bachelorettes, in his sleep. The pursuit, after all, is the interesting part. And when that’s over, the cameras will leave with a fade-to-black claim of happily-ever-after. Then he can deal with the long-term results, deal with commitment, deal with his father.

The Bachelor is not some sort of dream for Nathaniel. It’s not his ticket to true love; it’s not something he is ever going to be able to take seriously; it’s not something he wants his life to be.

What it is for him is this: Following orders. Saving face. And maybe, in the deepest corner of his mind, an honest attempt at making his mother happy.

He’s not an idiot. He is under no illusions that he will find a fucking love connection on this inane disaster show. But there is a reasonable chance he could find a wife, and to his mother, that will likely look like the same thing.

So, yeah. He’s the Bachelor.

“Never mind,” he says to Jim and Tim now. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Uh, sure, boss,” Tim says.

“Scram,” Nathaniel adds. “I’ll be in the conference room in five minutes.”

They scram.

*****

 **The Bachelor** _@BachelorABC_  
Meet the 28 women vying for Nathaniel’s heart! https://abc.com/bachelor/s26profi... #TheBachelor

 **nicola (ah)** _@animalcrossingnewbeef_  
replying to _@BachelorABC_  
is it just me or does rebecca have a serious case of the crazy eyes?

 **vivienne** _@vivi_pop_  
replying to _@animalcrossingnewbeef_  
i mean she does but not, like, luke p level

**hi, thanks for checking in, i’m** _@stillapieceofgarbaage_  
why why why do they gotta keep sucking me back in with this show???? #TheBachelor

**Melinda Maple** _@peanutbuttermnms_  
I really thought I was done w #TheBachelor after the nightmare that was Korey’s season but DAMMIT I’m REALLY curious about this nathaniel dude #foiledagain

 **elena** _@lenabeena_  
replying to _@peanutbuttermnms_  
Bro how do you think I feel I haven’t watched since Rachel broke up with Peter

 **Melinda Maple** _@peanutbuttermnms_  
replying to _@lenabeena_  
rip

**The Bachelor** _@BachelorABC_  
You loved Grocery Store Joe—now meet Ally, who has some grocery store- ies of her own! #TheBachelor  
_[embedded video]_

**Katy Marie** _@wineingaboutroses_  
just read #thebachelor bachelorette profiles and my pick to win it all is mona, calling it now, locking in that bracket like who wants to be a millionaire

**The Bachelor** _@BachelorABC_  
Being on #TheBachelor isn’t rocket science, but if it was Priyanka would still have it covered! Meet the 26-year-old computer programmer from Seattle!  
_[embedded video]_

**Natalyie** _@petiteprincess6_  
omfg some girl from my college is on the bachelor?? What am I supposed to say when I see her in survey of carribean lit next semester??? Do I just ask her what darryl whitefeather’s mustache looks like in person like it’s nbd ??????? #thebachelor

 **moriah** _@intuanoot_  
replying to _@petiteprincess6_  
omg which girl?? i don’t recognize any of them

 **Natalyie** _@petiteprincess6_  
replying to _@intuanoot_  
heather!!! She was in my mathematical thinking class last semester, the one who always wears the cute crop tops and looks high lmfao!!!

 **moriah** _@intuanoot_  
replying to _@petiteprincess6_  
WOW I’M BUGGIN

 **Heather Davis** _@heatherrrdaves_  
replying to _@petiteprincess6_  
the mustache is majestic as hell. send tweet.

**The Bachelor** _@BachelorABC_  
Meghan is a pastry chef who’s ready to bake herself all the way to a Neil Lane diamond! #TheBachelor  
_[embedded video]_

**Eliza** _@harrietthebi_  
#theBachelor just got done looking at the contestant profiles and I’m not saying Valencia lowkey cyberbullied me once but I’m pretty sure Valencia lowkey cyberbullied me once??

*****

“Okay, cookie, listen,” Paula says, settling into a chair across from Rebecca at Sugar Face. In the months between the initial interview and the imminent actual filming of the show, the women have become close as—well, Rebecca isn’t sure what the exact comparison point is. Sisters? That isn’t quite right. Mother and daughter? Closer, and yet way weirder. Honestly, she kind of feels like they’re sort of…best friends.

Case in point: their regular meetings for lunch, coffee, donuts, and everything in between, and their affectionate nicknames for each other.

“Filming starts in two weeks,” Paula continues, “Which means it’s more than time to make the official announcements about casting for the season. We usually don’t wait this long, even.”

“Right, about that,” Rebecca interjects. “I’ve been thinking a lot about my conversation with Josh, and it really seems like a good sign! I feel like our connection is, like, totally still alive even after all this time.”

It had been a miracle of miracles, running into Josh.

She was just walking down the street, minding her own business, when he appeared on the other side of a crosswalk, backlit by the afternoon sun and glowing like something out of a cheesy movie.

Rebecca had taken an extended and ambiguous leave of absence from work and all but moved to L.A.—thus giving her the opportunity to befriend Paula and rub elbows with the likes of Joshua Felix Chan without even _trying._ Of course, the ambiguity of her sabbatical also sort of applied to whether or not the partners at her firm would let her come back at the end of all this. Given their reaction to her abrupt and slightly theatrical announcement, the odds probably aren’t good.

But that doesn’t matter. It’s going to be worth it. It has to be. It will be.

“Oh my gosh,” Rebecca had exclaimed when she saw him. “Josh? Is that you?”

He’d startled at the (admittedly sort of shrill) sound of her voice, but recovered quickly and turned in her direction with a crowd-pleasing, reality-TV-star smile.

“Hi,” he said, “How’s it going?” He’d asked like it was a standard greeting for girls who recognized him out in the wild. Then he’d _really_ looked at her, and the generic friendliness had dropped into recognition and pleasure. “Hey! Bex! Is that really you?”

_He recognizes me! He’s excited to see me!_

“Yes! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it’s you! It’s been, what, like, ten years?” she asked, like she didn’t think about that fateful summer pretty much every day lately.

“At least,” he laughed. “Holy crap. You look great!”

She preened under the warmth of the compliment and his roaming eyes, which seemed to take in everything about her and approve of it without being skeezy or lecherous.

“Hey, look who’s talking,” she said, swatting at his chest in a friendly, cool-girl kind of way. “What, do you live at the gym or something?”

Josh smiled and half-blushed at that, rubbing the back of his neck in that humble way of his. “Oh, you know,” he said. “I like to stay fit.”

“Clearly! So do you, like, live here?” she asked. “In L.A.?”

Josh shook his head. “No, I’m still in West Covina,” he says. “I don’t know if you remember me mentioning it, but—”

“Are you kidding?” she cut in. “You only talked about it all the time. The best town in the world, just two hours from the beach!”

Josh laughed. “Yeah. I don’t know if I could ever leave. I’ve thought about it, of course, but—it’s home. I’m just here for some follow up stuff for this thing I did—well, I don’t know if you heard that I was on the Bachelorette?”

“You know,” she said, all innocent interest, “I do think I heard something about that! Wow, that’s amazing. How was it?”

“It was incredible,” Josh said, as effusive and bright as she remembered his enthusing about dancing back at camp. “I was only there for a couple weeks, but the group dates were _so_ fun, and there were a bunch of great guys—and Carly was great too, of course, but clearly—not the person for me, you know?” He laughed again as he said it, the picture of no hard feelings. “Honestly, it was a little like being back at camp,” he adds, still smiling.

If ever there was going to be a moment to declare her own status as a member of the Bachelor franchise, that was probably it, but something told Rebecca to keep those cards close to her chest for now. Because this little run-in, despite all her daydreams about tracking him down and catching up, was actually completely unplanned—a total coinkydink. She didn’t want him to think she was just leveraging their past relationship for Bachelor brownie points. Besides, this confirmation that they still remembered each other and still vibed was only going to make the surprise of her presence in those first-night limos that much more exciting and cool.

“That is _so_ awesome,” she said instead, trying to infuse her words with the same energy and warmth everything he said gave her.

“Yeah, so they just wanted me to do some interviews and other promotional stuff here in town. What about you?” he asked. “Are you in L.A. now?”

Another opportunity for transparency, but she stuck to her guns. “Oh, no,” she said. “Still New York. Manhattan, though, not Scarsdale. Well, for now. I’m actually out here—following a lead on a potential job,” she said.

_There. Completely true._

Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s so cool! So you’re, like, an actress, right?”

He said it like it a fact, like an obvious and preestablished conclusion. Which made it, somehow, the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her.

“What? No!” she said, swatting at him again like he was silly, but grinning as big as she had in years. “That is so sweet of you to say. No, I’m a lawyer,” she informed him.

“Wow!” he said, looking suitably impressed. “I should have known. You were always so smart.”

It’s like everything he said was designed to make her swoon.

They chatted for a few more minutes, easy, like summer camp, and she was disappointed when his phone chimed and he said he had to get going.

But it was okay. Because she was going to see him again very soon, whether he knew it or not, and in the meantime, they exchanged social media information and phone numbers. She had _Josh Chan’s phone number._ There was no small number of girls on Twitter who would kill for that kind of access to him, and he’d given it to her without blinking. He _likes_ her.

She felt like a teenager again, even as she kept her cool on the outside.

“I’m really busy the next few weeks,” she’d told him, like it was no big deal. “But I’ll reach out soon, okay?”

 _Just via limo, not text,_ she added silently, nearly bubbling over with excitement at the thought of their reunion.

“Sure, that sounds great!” he said, cheerful and oblivious to her scheming. “It was great to see you, Bex,” he’d added, and his parting smile is still seared into her brain three days later.

She’s still caught in the dreaminess of the memory when Paula takes both of her hands, squeezing them as she says, “Look, honey, this is going to be hard to hear.”

Rebecca tilts her head to the side, smile slipping. “What? Paula, you’re freaking me out. I mean, I’ve never seen you this serious. I don’t know what could make you look like that besides...” She trails off at the look on Paula’s face. “No,” she says. “No. No no no, Paula!”

“Yeah,” Paula interrupts, her face caught in some sort of long-term wince, nodding, “Yeah, cookie, I’m _so_ sorry. Josh—isn’t gonna be the Bachelor.”

Rebecca can’t quite catch her breath. “No, it’s _supposed_ to be Josh, that’s the whole—” She cuts herself off. “I’m sorry, I just—I thought—you said it was going to be Josh, is all, and I’m just having some trouble wrapping my head around the fact—”

Paula presses on. “I pushed for it, really, I did. The information I dug up, the _favors_ I leveraged, I did _everything_ in my power. But...he said no.”

The dizziness buzzing in her head is all Rebecca can focus on. It feels like one of those nightmares. One of those nightmares where you know you’re dreaming, you just have to wake up, why can’t she _wake up?_

She’s pretty sure Paula is still talking. Something about Josh’s doubts and the multiple offers he rejected and ratings considerations and the guy who had been picked instead. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

A few deep breaths later Rebecca’s senses more or less return, but the ache in her chest hasn’t abated at all. Paula is looking at her carefully, brow furrowed, like she’s afraid Rebecca’s going to snap.

“I would have told you earlier,” she says. “But it got pulled above my paygrade. I had no idea it was official until it was too late. The announcement just went out.” She holds out her phone for Rebecca to see the headline.

Cradling the phone in her hands like a venomous snake, it takes Rebecca three tries to read the first sentence, and after that she gives up. The rest of the article doesn’t matter. That name— _Nathaniel Plimpton III_ —says all she needs to know.

“Look,” Paula says, voice firm. “I know this seems bad. But I promise, it’s going to be okay.”

Rebecca is trying not to pout, but it’s really difficult. This is not how she expected this day to go. This is not how she expected her life to go.

Paula presses on. “Here’s the good news: he doesn’t want to be the Bachelor, and he doesn’t want to go on Paradise. But.”

She pauses, holding the moment hostage, and despite herself Rebecca feels a stirring of intrigue and squints at her, suspicious.

“But?”

Paula’s grin is ear-to-ear. “But he _may_ be willing to be on another season of the Bachelorette!”

Rebecca’s brow furrows as she shakes her head. “I mean, I guess that’s interesting from an academic perspective, that doesn’t happen very much, but I don’t understand how that—oh!”

“Yep!” says Paula, positively gleeful.

“You think I could—”

“Absolutely!”

“You want me to be Bachelorette?” she asks, near screeching with excitement. “Are you serious?”

She pictures it: pictures herself in a long, bright blue dress; pictures stylish evening gloves up to her elbows; pictures men surrounding her, fawning over her, trying to win her attention and affection. She’d always thought it would be kind of fun to be part of a love triangle—a love triacontagon would be beyond her wildest fantasies.

And there, among the throng of suitors, would be Josh Chan.

“I’m in,” she says. “What do I have to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about timelines: This chapter does not follow exact chronological order for narrative purposes. For example, since Rebecca and Paula’s conversation takes place immediately after Nathaniel is announced as Bachelor, it necessarily occurs before the tweets and blog post, and either before or around the same time as Nathaniel’s outburst at Jim and Tim, depending on how long after the announcement other blogs start getting in on the action. 
> 
> Anyway, there’s our setup! Tune in next time (next time being...???) for episode 1! 
> 
> \---
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr [@romansuzume](https://romansuzume.tumblr) or twitter [@gingermaggiest](https://twitter.com/gingermaggiest)!


	2. Week 1 - The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This single chapter is longer than any entire fic I've ever posted.

There is something unreasonably surreal about sitting in a limousine on its way to the infamous Bachelor mansion.  
  
Rebecca is caught somewhere between giddy glee and sick, stomach-wrenching discomfort. Her heart is tripping off on a singsong barrage of beats, but she can’t help the sparkle of anticipation stirring beneath it. The passionate theater kid she hasn’t really stopped being is eager for the chance to perform in front of an entire nation, even if playing a variant on herself is a little different than slipping into a completely different persona for a few hours.  
  
There are three other girls in the limo with her, obviously, and they all seem about as worked up as she is. They did introductions when they were packed into the car, but most of the ride from the moderately posh hotel they’d been staying in was ensconced in tense, pregnant silence.  
  
Meghan had actually been Rebecca’s roommate for the two nights they’d spent in the LA hotel, not that they’d had a lot of time for bonding and getting-to-know-you activities. Their days had been spent filming promotional materials and generic asides that would either never see the light of day or maybe get spliced into random moments in need of a snarky reaction shot, filling out yet more paperwork and signing yet more waivers and NDAs, and getting blisters on absolutely every single part of their feet.  
  
Now, though. Now they were in the limos. They were on their way. Everything started tonight, and Rebecca, despite herself, couldn’t wait.  
  
Her companions in the limo seem to reside at various points along the same spectrum. Melissa’s grin is neverending as she tries to peek out the window—futilely, as it’s tinted to hell and back and the night outside is dark and secluded, anyway. She bounces a bit in her seat, like a little kid. Valencia looks almost bored, examining her nails like she expects to find something out of place, but Rebecca doubts anything has ever been out of place in her entire life. Meghan seems nervous, too, but hides it better than Melissa. She has a resting bitch face if Rebecca has ever seen one, but every now and then she lets out a shaky breath, like she’s not quite steady.  
  
Rebecca doesn’t know what she looks like to them. Crazed, perhaps. Ridiculous, she worries. Ugly, probably. Not like any of them.  
  
Melissa is a 22-year-old literal Instagram model with impossible, waist-length, perfectly wavy blonde hair that looks straight off—well, straight off a contestant on the Bachelor. Rebecca has always assumed those flawless looks came from the team of magical hair and makeup artists available to the women, and they _had_ done a lot to help her (Rebecca, that is) reach her “potential”—their words—but apparently there is always going to be a gap between Rebecca and girls like Melissa.  
  
Anyway, she seems like a nice enough girl, if one who laughs at the slightest provocation and constantly seems like she’s itching for her phone to update her friends or her followers on the absurd escapades of her life.  
  
_Her_ roommate, however, is another story. Valencia is, like myriad Bachelor contestants before her, drop-dead gorgeous and incredibly put together. Her introduction consists only of her name and a curt one-sentence summary of her professional experience: “I teach yoga classes, and I just started an event planning company.”  
  
Meghan informs them that she’s a pastry chef from Rhode Island, with more of a smile than Valencia, but not with any more chitchat. She’s beautiful, too, and has a low, husky voice that fits with her chocolatey eyes and mature demeanor.  
  
If anyone is the odd one out in this limo, it’s Rebecca. Awkward, nervous, maybe-a-little-on-the-pudgy-side Rebecca. The 28-year-old real estate lawyer from New York. Fuck, she’s so boring. She’s going to be the boring one, the one who gets no screen time and no fans and never makes it back on to the franchise. She won’t even be popular enough to be that one rando who shows back up on Paradise whom nobody remembers.  
  
She’s completely and totally fucked.  
  
Rebecca wishes desperately for her phone. She needs to text Paula. She needs to call the whole thing off. It’s not going to work. It was never going to work.  
  
_Calm down,_ she hears Paula in her head, almost as if she’s standing beside her. _You’ve got this, cookie. Game face on. We did not put all this effort in for you to punk out at the last minute. Face your fears. Run with scissors! It’s going to be fine._  
  
Well, the run with scissors thing is probably a bad idea. But the rest, she tries to hold steady on. Paula has done so much, worked so hard, to get her here. She has to do her part. She’s going to be charming as hell. She’s going to be sparkling and charismatic and sexy and fun. She’s going to win Nathaniel’s heart, and America’s, and then she’s going to live happily ever after with Josh. It’s foolproof.  
  
When the limo comes to a stop, Rebecca jumps, all her nerves back front and center.  
  
_I can do this,_ she thinks. _Totally._  
  
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Melissa says. “I’m so nervous.”  
  
“Just relax,” Valencia says, and Rebecca is surprised by her shift to soothing reassurance until she adds, “I mean, there’s no need getting all worked up about it when you’ll only be here for a few days anyway.”  
  
Melissa laughs before she realizes there’s an insult buried in there, and not even that deep. “Wait, what?” she asks.  
  
Valencia flips her hair over one shoulder. “It’s just practicality. You should get in, get some screentime, get out before you’re caught up in some scandal that fucks up your public image. Then maybe you go on Paradise, if you have an especially good bikini body.”  
  
Melissa’s voice is soft, and for the first time she really _seems_ as young as she is. Younger, even. “Wouldn’t it be more practical to put my best effort into forming a connection? Or at least being open to it?”  
  
“Sorry, are you _actually_ here because you think Nathaniel might fall madly in love with you?” Valencia smirks. “That’s cute.”  
  
There’s a long moment of stunned silence.  
  
“I mean,” Rebecca says, feeling bad for Melissa. “He’s gonna fall in love with someone, right? It could be her. Or Meghan, or you. Or me,” she adds, as an afterthought. “The show ends with the Bachelor getting engaged, remember?”  
  
The cutting eyes turn to Rebecca. “What, you think anyone here in this limo is going to make it to an engagement?” She quirks a condescending eyebrow as her eyes dismiss each of them in turn. The strangest thing, Rebecca thinks, is that she’s...including herself in the dismissal? Rebecca knows there’s someone every season who gets accused of _not being here for the right reasons,_ but she didn’t expect anyone to be so... _open_ about it.  
  
“No need to be a bitch about it,” Meghan says lightly, but there’s an edge to her tone.  
  
The energy in the limo takes a sharp dip, and the last thing Rebecca needs is to get sucked into stupid catfights before she even makes it into the mansion. Yes, there’s something to be said about notoriety morphing into popularity, especially in Bachelor Nation, but it’s a thin line to walk. She needs to stick to the plan. Fun, sweet, sexy, quirky enough to stand out a little.  
  
“I just think—” Melissa begins, no longer smiling, and Rebecca recognizes the smolder of superiority and challenge in Valencia’s eyes. If this goes any further, Valencia is going to eviscerate someone, and Rebecca doesn’t need to get caught in the crossfire.  
  
She goes big and goofy, cutting in. “Yeah, well, I’m sleeping with Darryl Whitefeather, so I think he’ll probably fight to keep _me_ around for a while, anyway.”  
  
There’s a beat of startled silence. Then Meghan rolls her eyes. Melissa lets out a trill of giggles. Valencia just wrinkles her nose. “Really?” she asks, apparently sincerely.  
  
Rebecca blinks. “Oh, uh,” she says. “No. Not really.”  
  
“Oh,” Valencia says. “You were making a joke. I think you did that earlier, too. Sorry, I don’t really like humor.  
  
Rebecca blinks. “You don’t…” she starts, but she’s drowned out by another poorly muffled giggle from Melissa and a deep, long-suffering sigh from Meghan. “Sure,” she finally says, because at least Valencia is frowning at her instead of glaring at Melissa. “Yeah. Right. Sure.”  
  
The limo door opens, and one of the PAs—young, gorgeous, harried—sticks her head in. “Hey,” she says. “You guys are limo number five, so you’re in for a wait. An hour at least, probably more.”  
  
Meghan grimaces at this announcement, but Valencia is suddenly all smiles and perk.  
  
“Wonderful,” she gushes. “Thanks so much for letting us know!”  
  
The woman seems bewildered by her enthusiasm, but appreciative that she’s not getting her head bit off. “Yeah,” she says. “So, uh, I’m gonna put this microphone in here? Just so we can get audio of your arrival when you pull up to the walkway. We probably won’t use anything that happens before that, so talk freely among yourselves.”  
  
_Yeah, not likely at this point,_ Rebecca thinks, and she’s right. The next chunk of time passes in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the occasional tap of Valencia’s nails against the armrest or Melissa fidgeting, antsy. And anyway, bickering aside, the PA’s assurance that the audio “probably” wouldn’t be used isn’t especially comforting. It’s going to take a little getting used to, being under constant surveillance.  
  
Rebecca resists the urge to hum or sing under her breath. Self-soothing it may be, but the other girls are on edge enough she’s pretty sure such behavior would get her punched squarely in the nose.  
  
_Just an hour,_ she thinks. _You can do anything for an hour._  
  


*****

Everyone who works on this show is a moron.  
  
Nathaniel truly doesn’t think he’s being overdramatic.  
  
It starts with little things—the assistant who brings his coffee has spiked it with some disgusting, caramel-icing-cinnamon-bun creamer that appears to be made of calories as well as being abjectly repugnant. When he brings the replacement, he—the assistant, that is, his name is Gordon or something—spills it all over Nathaniel’s shirt, necessitating three women from wardrobe to squawk all over him and bicker for ten minutes over what color button down he should wear now.  
  
Then he meets one of the cameramen, an overexcited guy named Hector who insists on fistbumping him in greeting, and one of the video editors, who speaks slower than Nathaniel has ever heard a human being speak and uses the word “dude” about as often as he presumably smokes weed.  
  
The worst offender, however, has to be Darryl Whitefeather.  
  
Darryl is, of course, the ubiquitous face of the Bachelor franchise. Even Nathaniel, who would have previously considered it a point of pride to know absolutely nothing about the franchise—in actuality, he knew little enough not to bother being proud of it—felt a vague recollection of his face and name when he started doing some research in the days leading up to filming.  
  
And yes, it made him feel remarkably foolish to google basic facts and behind-the-scenes secrets of a fucking reality show about what could generously be called dating, but he’s a good lawyer—no, scratch that, an _excellent_ lawyer—and he wouldn’t be caught dead in any new environment without knowing his shit.  
  
On the Bachelor—and the Bachelorette, and Bachelor in Paradise, and Bachelor Winter Games, and Bachelor Presents: Listen to Your Heart, and whatever other moneygrab spinoffs Nathaniel still isn’t familiar with due to the pressing need to vomit the longer he spent looking into the franchise—Darryl projects an energy of excessive cheeriness and an apparent sincerity in his desire to help the sadsacks, suckers, and skeezes who sign up for the show _find love._  
  
Nathaniel doesn’t buy it, of course, but he does find it incredibly annoying. Almost as annoying as the man’s apparently equal propensity to get overly attached and emotionally responsive to the ups and downs of the largely fictional relationships and meltdowns on the show. No human being actually acts like that, Nathaniel had thought, and he couldn’t believe in the inanity of an audience who would think Darryl’s whole _thing_ was authentic.  
  
And then he meets him.  
  
“I’m just so excited to meet you!” Darryl gushes, throwing his arms around Nathaniel in an enthusiastic hug.  
  
Nathaniel stands frozen under the force of it, exhibiting, he thinks, an exceptional level of control when he doesn’t let his face wrinkle into a scowl, not to mention doesn’t shove the host off him. At least, not until the hug hits the _seven second_ mark. Then he feels more than justified in none-so-gently extricating himself from the embrace.  
  
That almost proves to be a mistake, though, because when he looks Darryl in the face he sees that the other man is _crying._  
  
“What the fuck?” he says without thinking.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Darryl sobs—actually _sobs,_ what the _fuck_ —and presses on. “It’s just such a big night and I know I don’t know you, but I will, and I’m just so _proud_ of you.”  
  
Nathaniel feels an odd twist in his chest at that, shoving his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Uh,” he says. “Okay.”  
  
He looks to Paula for guidance, but she just rolls her eyes and scribbles something on her ever-present clipboard.  
  
“We’re about to roll, Darryl,” she says. “Suck it up and get ready.”  
  
Somehow Darryl does pull it together long enough to shoot a fairly contrived little snippet of conversation between the host and the leading man. Nathaniel feigns nerves and Darryl stumbles through words of encouragement, and then the older man claps him on the shoulder and leaves him to greet the “newly arriving” women, though Nathaniel knows the limos parked just down the road have been there at least an hour already.  
  
Somehow, it’s actually a relief when he’s positioned—and repositioned, and repositioned, and _repositioned_ —at his post outside the house, waiting for the women to disembark.  
  
For all the waiting around before, it’s suddenly a whirlwind, and he barely has time to take a steadying breath before the door of the first limo opens to reveal a short, mousy girl with glasses that are way too big for her face. She’s wearing a purple off-the-shoulder dress that’s almost flattering despite everything else she’s working with, but Nathaniel abandons all hope of an unobjectionable conversation the second she opens her mouth.  
  
“Ohmigosh, _hi!”_ she gushes. “I’m Maya. I’m sooo stoked to be here! Hashtag the Bachelor, hashtag rose ceremony, hashtag _true love!”_  
  
Nathaniel, despite his ground-level expectations, finds himself gaping at her, mouth actually dropped open. She’s still talking, but he actually might have blacked out a little bit, because he has no idea what she’s saying.  
  
“—and I love kale salads and online shopping, hashtag Etsy for life, and—”  
  
“It’s so great to meet you, Maya,” he finally cuts in, and she blinks at him, but shuts her mouth. That only lasts so long, though.  
  
“Oh-em-gee, of course!” she chirps. “I’m sure you have like, so many people to meet! I’ll see you inside! Hashtag can’t wait.” She flings her arms around him for a quick hug, largely ineffectually at her height, and scampers off.  
  
The peace and quiet she leaves behind are short-lived. A PA comes over to straighten his suit, which Maya apparently knocked askew, and Paula snaps something into the microphone on her headset, and then the door to the limo is opening again and he braces himself for a long fucking night.  
  
A whirlwind of girls all go by in a rush, barely more than blips in his consciousness. A few just go for a standard hello, introduction, and hug—barring one girl who won’t meet his eyes and barely speaks above a whisper—while others attempt some sort of gesture.  
  
Second in line, directly after Maya, is a woman named Ally, who emerges from the limo with some sort of vegetative monstrosity. As in, a monstrosity made up of vegetables.  
  
“I work in produce,” she says. “So I thought it would be fun to bring you a bouquet of some of my favorites! I heard that you like healthy eating.”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he manages. “Who doesn’t?” he adds, and she beams, so at least there’s that.  
  
Jessica is the first to break the stream of limos and show up in a red Ferrari, bearing champagne and reminding him uncomfortably of exactly the sort of girls he usually sleeps with. ( _A variety of loose women,_ he hears his father saying in the back of his mind, but he tries to be charming and friendly anyway.)  
  
After Nathaniel endures an unobjectionable-if-boring conversation with a girl whose name he forgets almost immediately, the next girl out of the limo is wearing a long, elegant red dress that perfectly matches her lipstick. Her dark hair is sleek and controlled, projecting an image of competence further underscored by her steady expression and the ease with which she exits the car and closes the door behind her.  
  
She smiles at him, warm and friendly, and Nathaniel feels a twinge of interest despite himself. He smiles back as she makes the trek from the limo to the space in front of him and tells himself it’s for the sake of the cameras, just like everything else.  
  
“Hi,” she says when she arrives. She’s holding something in one hand, her palm blocking it from view, but she doesn’t twist and shift it around or anything, no apparent nervous ticks firing. She hugs him, as all the other women have. “I’m Mona,” she says.  
  
“Nathaniel,” he replies, like she doesn’t know. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
Her smile cranks up a few more watts. “Actually,” she says. “Would you believe we’ve already met?”  
  
His eyebrows shoot up. That’s the kind of comment that can lead to something very bad.  
  
Nathaniel isn’t—look, he’s not what anyone would call a monogamist. His relationships with women tend to last somewhere between a night and a few weeks. He’s sure there are plenty of women he’s dated—slept with—whatever you want to call it—that he couldn’t recognize if you held a gun to his head. He just hadn’t expected any of them to show up on this reality dating show debacle. If that’s what’s happening here. She doesn’t look pissed, or anything. More like they’re sharing a joke, even if he’s not in on it.  
  
His face doesn’t betray any of these thoughts. He projects casual interest. “Is that right?” he asks.  
  
She reveals the secret in her hand, letting it unfurl: a Stanford pennant. “It seems we share an alma mater,” she tells him.  
  
It doesn’t seem like she’s going to yell at him on national television, so at least there’s that.  
  
“And,” she continues, “I have it on good authority from my friend Carter that you were in the same history class your junior year. Apparently, you did a group project together and I came by to borrow his book while you were studying, and he introduced us. Truthfully, I have no memory of this interaction, but Carter insists it could be the basis for a lasting and beautiful connection.”  
  
Her tone is perfect, joking without being goofy, self-deprecating without being antagonistic or awkward. Her eyes are sparkling, her grin subtle, her left eyebrow only hinting at a raise.  
  
He finds himself grinning back, just a little bit, and leaning towards her. “Well, that only makes sense,” he says. “Though unfortunately I don’t think I remember that day either.”  
  
“Carter remembers it enough for both of us,” she says. “He’s thrilled to have a connection to the Bachelor; he and his wife watch religiously. They’re the ones who talked me into doing this. Fair warning, I think he’s probably put money on the outcome of this, so if you’re feeling generous towards an old classmate, keep that in mind.”  
  
“Hmm,” Nathaniel says, pretending to think it over. “Does he remember what grade we got on the project?” A ridiculous question, of course. If he’d gotten anything less than A, he would—well, he wouldn’t have gotten less than an A.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Nathaniel sees one of the producers gesture at him to wrap up the conversation. He’s already been talking to Mona longer than any of the other women, he realizes. But could anyone really blame him? It feels like finding the only other adult at a children’s party. A breath of fresh air.  
  
“You’re a tough negotiator, aren’t you?” Mona asks, and she does an admirable job at infusing subtle flirtation without seeming overbearing.  
  
“I know what I want,” he says, and she smirks.  
  
The producer looks like he might be getting ready to throw something at Nathaniel, so with—no, not with reluctance, just—whatever. He ends the conversation.  
  
“It’s really nice to meet you. Again,” he adds quickly, and she smiles.  
  
“I’ll see you inside.”  
  
“I look forward to it.”  
  
Once she’s gone, he sticks the pennant in his pocket, next to the anatomical-heart-shaped stress ball the last girl—a medical student, _ha-ha_ —had given him. He only still had that because Darryl had disappeared after taking the weird vegetable bouquet off his hands.  
  
Straightening his shoulders, he looks back towards the limo. Mona was second out, so there should be several more occupants.  
  
“Hold on,” Paula calls out, striding over from her position in the bushes. Which—creepy much? “Pull that back out.”  
  
It doesn’t seem worth arguing, so he does as he’s told. “What?” he asks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“You can’t just keep stuffing the gifts in your pocket like you don’t give a shit,” she says.  
  
Nathaniel smirks. “But I _don’t_ give a shit,” he reminds her.  
  
Paula lets out a huff and an eyeroll of her own. “Congratulations,” she says, brusque. “I’m here to make it look like you do. And in exchange, you don’t get cyberbullied off the planet. Capiche?”  
  
“I don’t have any personal social media accounts,” he pushes back, just to be a dick.  
  
“For the love of—just do another take,” she says. “Look at the pennant like it’s sooo meaningful, then gently tuck it in your pocket. Your breast pocket, not pants.”  
  
He opens his mouth, but she slices a hand through the air to shut him up.  
  
“I don’t care,” she says. “Just do it.”  
  
Again, it’s not worth the energy it takes to fight Paula, so he does three more takes putting the pennant away, until she’s satisfied.  
  
“Good,” Paula says. Into her headset, she adds, “Next woman.”  
  
Nathaniel rolls his shoulder again as the limo doors open and the next contestant emerges. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes in the situation. It’s—not great.  
  
The woman coming towards him has a shock of short blonde hair, wild eyes, at least fifteen years on Nathaniel, and cradled in her arms—  
  
_Is that a fucking snake?_  
  
“What,” he says, with great feeling, “The ever-loving fuck.”

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

_EXT. BACHELOR MANSION – LIMO ENTRANCES  
  
Karen (45, Snake Enthusiast) exits the limo holding a large snake.  
  
Nathaniel startles and shifts, obviously uncomfortable. He looks behind him like he’s looking for guidance from someone._  
  
NATHANIEL (muffled): What the [BLEEP]?  
  
_Karen approaches Nathaniel confidently, stroking the snake with one hand._  
  
KAREN: Hello, Nathaniel.  
  
NATHANIEL: Um, hi.  
  
_Nathaniel watches the snake warily._  
  
KAREN: Oh, how rude of me. My name is Karen, and this—is Long John Slithers.  
  
_Long John Slithers lifts his head and hisses at Nathaniel._

_INT. BACHELOR MANSION  
  
Ally and Emily P. are peering out the window, trying to catch glimpses of the other women arriving. _  
  
ALLY: Oh my gosh, is that a [BLEEP]ing snake?  
  
EMILY P: What?  
  
_Liz looks over from where she’s sitting on the couch._  
  
ALLY: That girl totally brought a huge[BLEEP] snake with her!

*****

 **Jenna Mae** _@magicathfan16_  
remember when catherine brought her dog and dumped it on colton?? this is SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT #TheBachelor

**MARRY ME SNAKE LADY** _@benvoliyo_  
new display name in honor of the best thing that’s ever happened on #TheBachelor ever ever ever ever

*****

Thankfully, eventually, the world’s longest and most awkward hour must end, and the limo door opens again. A different PA sticks his head in.  
  
“Okay, y’all are up,” he says. “It’s gonna go Valencia-Meghan-Melissa-Rebecca. No, that is not up for negotiation, go when it’s your damn turn not before not after, we do not have all night for shenanigans. If it is your turn exit the limo when you hear a knock on the window, when you exit the limo close the door completely behind you, if you are left behind in the limo, lean away from the doorway so the camera can’t pick you up before your entrance. Keep your voices down, these limos are not soundproof and we would rather not have to redo dialogue later. You are free to present the Bachelor with a gift but please do not spend more than two minutes speaking to him, you will have plenty of time to connect at the cocktail party and we have a lot of meetings to get through. Got it?”  
  
This is all said very fast—Rebecca can _hear_ the comma splices—but clear and matter-of-fact, like he’s been practicing.  
  
“Got it,” Meghan says, easy, and the others hurry to agree.  
  
“Swell,” he says, and slams the door.  
  
Then they’re lurching forward, and Rebecca’s heart rate kicks into high gear again.  
  
_This is where it all begins. This is where my life really begins._  
  
A few long, tense moments later, there’s a knock on the window and Valencia squares her shoulders. “It was so great meeting you all,” she says, all plastic enthusiasm again. “See you inside, byeeeee.”  
  
She vanishes out the door, and the remaining three all breathe a sigh of relief together. The very air in the small space seems to clear, like a fog lifting.  
  
Melissa lets out a giggle.

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

_Ext. Bachelor Mansion – Limo Entrances  
  
Meghan (29, Pastry Chef) exits the limo wearing a tall white chef’s hat. It flops to one side as she walks, and she stops to adjust it. _  
  
NATHANIEL: Hi.  
  
MEGHAN: Hi. I’m Meghan. It’s so nice to meet you.  
  
_Meghan and Nathaniel hug._  
  
NATHANIEL: So, uh, you’re...a chef?  
  
MEGHAN: Yeah, I have my own bakery in Boston. I have a bit of a passion for pastries.  
  
NATHANIEL: Oh, cool. Sounds...fun. _  
  
Meghan beams at him and heads off toward the house.  
  
Nathaniel fiddles with the cuff of his suit jacket as he waits for the next woman.  
  
Melissa (22, Model) exits the limo with a huge smile. _  
  
MELISSA: Hi, I’m Melissa!  
  
_Melissa reaches out and uses the feather to tickle Nathaniel’s nose._  
  
MELISSA: I just wanted to say that I’m _tickled_ to meet you!  
  
_Nathaniel winces._  
  
NATHANIEL: Oh. Oh, it’s, uh. Nice to meet you as well.  
  
_Melissa gives him a hug and goes inside, still smiling brightly.  
  
Nathaniel sneezes. _

*****

Rebecca is the last one left in the limo.  
  
Taking steadying breaths, she rehearses what she wants to say one last time.  
  
She’d decided not to go gimmicky—too much risk involved. There might be plenty of people who find it cute, but she doesn’t want to alienate anyone by going too far out of the box. Funny, cute, approachably sexy. That’s her sweet spot. She can do that.  
  
Upon the signal, she pushes out of the limo and relishes the feeling of fresh air on her slightly flushed skin.  
  
Then she looks to Nathaniel.  
  
_Huh,_ she thinks. He’s cuter than she expected. Not that—she’d seen a few pictures of him here and there, of course, but she hadn’t really thought about what he would like all done up in a suit, hair perfectly coifed as he stands at the end of a driveway waiting for her.  
  
He’s no Josh, obviously, but he’s not bad to look at.  
  
She breaks out a smile on her face and approaches him.  
  
Nathaniel’s expression is neutral, but there’s something in his eyes that reads a little tired. It’s not surprising, really—all the time she’s been twiddling her thumbs in the limo, he’s presumably been meeting several dozen women.  
  
Several dozen beautiful, smart, interesting women.  
  
Unexpectedly, she feels nerves bubble up in her stomach, and she finds herself sprinkling her words with old-timey slang—a nervous habit whose origin she’s never quite been able to pin down.  
  
“Well aren’t you a real flutter bum of a fella? A tall drink of water, I mean,” she adds, unsure whether she’d gone a little too obscure. “I’m Rebecca. Pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir.” She inclines her head a little, trying not to feel too awkward.  
  
_There,_ she thinks. Not what she planned, exactly, but— _That was okay. Right?_  
  
Nathaniel, however, raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Sorry, what is this voice?” he says, waving a hand across her body like he’s not sure where to pinpoint the problem. “Are you supposed to be some kind of old-timey detective?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“It’s just—I get that half of you people feel the need to do a gimmicky entrance to get attention, especially if you can’t fall back on basic attraction, but most of them at least make _some_ kind of sense.”  
  
There’s a moment where Rebecca is actually unable to process all the condescension and misogyny that was just thrown at her. _“You people?”_ is all she can latch onto for a moment. Then the ball gets rolling. “Sorry, are you critiquing the elaborate, inventive, creative limo entrances of a group of intelligent, hardworking young women who have put their entire lives on hold to take a chance and come here in hopes of forming a meaningful relationship with you?”  
  
Nathaniel quirks an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it?”  
  
Steam rises from Rebecca’s toes through her chest all the way up to her head, where it might as well start pouring out her ears.  
  
“Cool,” she says. “Cool, so you’re just an insufferable assho—” she cuts herself off with a huge burst of effort. Fuck. She can’t fuck this up. She can’t get kicked off night one.  
  
She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Nathaniel, the smug bastard, just smirks at her.  
  
“No, please, continue,” he says. “An insufferable...?”  
  
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says, because the alternative is kicking him in the balls and, even setting aside her Bachelorette aspirations, there’s a decent chance that course of action will result in either losing a shoe or ripping her dress, and there are cameras everywhere. “I—um. I’m really excited to be here and get to know you. I’ll see you inside?”  
  
He lets out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Sure,” he says, falsely enthusiastic. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
Resisting the urge to audibly _harrumph,_ Rebecca stalks away.  
  
When she gets inside and finds a drink and a seat on autopilot, all the other girls are already gushing about Nathaniel.  
  
“He is _sooo_ charming!” says one girl, Emily H.  
  
“And not particularly hard on the eyes,” adds Olive.  
  
“I’m sure we can find something about him that’s hard,” offers Courtney, and a few other girls giggle.  
  
With a great deal of effort, Rebecca resists the urge to make a spectacle of fake gagging.  
  
Like, honestly. She knew the guy wasn’t going to be as sweet and charming and wonderful as Josh—who could be?—but she had no idea he would be such a complete and total _dick._

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

REBECCA: Well, aren’t you a real flutter bum of a fella? [pause] A tall drink of water, I mean. [pause] I’m Rebecca. Pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir.  
  
_Rebecca dips into what may be an attempt at curtsy or a bow, but isn’t quite either.  
  
Nathaniel raises his eyebrows and leans back from her a little, pulling a slight face.  
  
Cut to Rebecca moving towards the house. _  
  
NATHANIEL (V.O.): Nice to meet you.

*****

 **Katy Marie** _@wineingaboutroses_  
Ohhhh that was awkward. #TheBachelor

**Stacey** _@staceistheplace_  
when the editors add the purposeful editing music/silence to make an already vaguely uncomfortable moment even more painfully uncomfortable for the audience [skull emoji] [skull emoji] [skull emoji] #thebachelor   
  
**who asked me tho ig** _@geegee14_  
replying to _@staceistheplace_  
aggghhh it’s so upsetting literally I feel bad for her

**jah** _@hagwidsbuttqwak_  
whoof, nathaniel did NOT seem into rebecca’s entire thing. she’s pretty tho #TheBachelor 

*****

One limo remains, and Nathaniel manages to make it through without any other disasters, snakes, or annoying women. They’re mostly average, though one girl emerges wearing a masquerade mask that covers her entire face and doesn’t take it off the whole time they’re talking, and the final girl arrives not in a limo but on a dirt bike that she rides right up to him, almost running him the fuck over.  
  
Finally, blessedly, the entrances are over, the snake is somewhere Not Here, and Nathaniel can almost (almost) breathe again. He manages to grab a few moments of peace and quiet by ducking away to the bathroom, but all too soon he has to wrap things up, give himself a brief mirror-based pep talk reminiscent of his more stressful water polo days.  
  
But it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s got this.  
  
Unfortunately, all too soon it’s time for him to make his grand entrance into the house, where all the women are waiting. He’s stalled briefly just outside the main door. Several stylists fuss over nonexistent lint on his suit (please, like he didn’t make sure he looked perfectly presentable before leaving the bathroom?) and a PA shoves a 5-hour energy drink into his hand.  
  
“Please,” he says, shoving it back. “I’m not putting this crap into my body.”  
  
The kid raises an eyebrow. “I assume you’ll regret that, but best of luck to you.”  
  
“Trust me,” Nathaniel says. “I have plenty of other things to regret here. Like being here.”  
  
Suddenly beside him, Paula tsks. “I know it can seem like a lot of muck to wade through at this stage,” she says, more empathetic than she’s been with him in weeks, since she really got a sense of his attitude about the whole process. “But as someone who has spent a reasonable amount of time talking to most of these girls, I promise there are some _great_ candidates. Mona, for instance.”  
  
She shoots him a significant look at that. Nathaniel pointedly ignores it.  
  
“I think you’ll like Vanessa—she’s like, _way_ into exercise. A weird amount, in my opinion, but, y’know. Courtney’s very smart, very driven. And Rebecca—”  
  
Nathaniel can’t help it—he outright scoffs. “Rebecca?” he says. _“That’s_ who you’re gonna choose to endorse? That really doesn’t instill confidence in your judgment.”  
  
“Hey, buddy—” Paula begins, but Nathaniel shakes his head.  
  
“I think I can do better than some short angry chubby girl who doesn’t know how to hold a sixty-second conversation, thanks,” he says.  
  
Paula is scowling, but she clearly chooses to forego a battle here.  
  
“Okay, Casanova,” she says, shoving him toward the door. “Go find your supermodel first-ex-wife, then.”

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

_Daniela settles onto the couch as the other girls stare at her masquerade mask._  
  
AMANDA: Are you gonna...keep that on all night?  
  
_Daniela giggles and fixes her hair._  
  
DANIELA: I dunno, maybe. It adds an air of mystery, don’t you think?  
  
_A shot of Vanessa rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her drink.  
  
[INTERVIEW] _  
VANESSA (30, Fitness Instructor): Some of these girls are clearly trying _really_ hard to get noticed. Like, can you be more extra?  
_[/INTERVIEW]  
  
*Motorcycle noises*  
  
Outside, Janelle (20, Student) rides up on a dirt bike. _

*****

Rebecca feels out of place in the Bachelor mansion.  
  
She hates that that’s the case, but it’s true. It’s like every party she’s ever tried to attend (or host), every awkward social experience in middle and high school. She doesn’t know anyone, and they all seem infinitely cooler and more put together than her. And they all seem like they know what they’re doing, while _she_ doesn’t have a clue.  
  
She wanders around aimlessly for a while, scoping out the rooms she’s allowed to enter and forming suspicions about the ones she’s not. Finally, she gives up and settles uncomfortably on a completely unoccupied couch, away from pretty much everyone else, women and cameras alike, hoping to catch a breath before she spirals into anything resembling a panic attack.  
  
It’s painfully obvious, she thinks, just how much she doesn’t fit here, with all these beautiful, smart, sexy, confident women.  
  
Before she can feel _too_ awkward, though, a body flops itself onto the couch next to her, more sprawling than Rebecca expected anyone to be comfortable with in this house, let alone on the first night.  
  
“Sup,” says the comfortable woman in question.  
  
“Oh,” Rebecca says. “Um, hi.”  
  
Her companion—who is, Rebecca notices, holding a very large glass of wine filled about as high as it probably could be before sloshing became an issue—raises a pierced eyebrow in greeting. “I’m Heather.”  
  
“Rebecca,” Rebecca manages, offering a weak, nervous wave. “So, uh. What do you do, Heath?”  
  
Heather wrinkles her nose and takes a sip of wine. “Mmm, nope, we’re not doing that. It’s Heather. Not Heath.”  
  
“Right,” Rebecca says quickly. “Sure. Yeah. Of course, Heath… _er,”_ she amends, off Heather’s glare.  
  
“I’m a student,” the other woman finally says, more or less mollified. “What about you?”  
  
“I’m a lawyer,” Rebecca says. “I’m from New York. Born and raised, and I live there now. But I went to school in Boston. At Harvard,” she adds, unable to help herself, when Heather doesn’t react to the hint.  
  
Heather raises one eyebrow, but Rebecca truly can’t tell if the expression means she’s impressed or utterly unimpressed.  
  
“So, let me guess,” Heather says. “You’re, like, here undercover to expose the misogynistic and exploitative underpinnings of the franchise, the fanbase, and the American populace.” She leans back and crosses her legs, sipping her wine. “Like Gloria Steinem or whatever.”  
  
Rebecca sputters. “Of course not,” she says. “My candidacy is authentic and pure,” she adds, prim. “I am here to find _love,_ by which I mean the man of my dreams. The human man of my dreams. And I have no other ulterior motives at all, definitely not, totally chill.”  
  
For a long moment Heather just looks at her, unnervingly even. “Yeah, no, I retract my initial assessment. You’re fully bonkerballs. Like, the most bonkerballs person here. We’re gonna be friends, okay?”  
  
That stops Rebecca up short. “What?” she says, trying not to sound as small and shy as she suddenly feels. “You—you wanna be friends with me?”  
  
“For sure,” Heather says. “I’m taking an Abnormal Psych class next semester? I figure this whole thing is gonna give me a lot to talk about in my papers.” She follows this pronouncement by draining the remainder of the wine in her glass. Which was, again, very large and very full. “I need more wines,” she announces, pushing to her feet. “You coming?”  
  
A delicate warmth bubbles in Rebecca’s chest. “Yeah,” she says, letting a smile bloom over her lips. “That sounds good.”

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

_[INTERVIEW]_  
REBECCA (28, Lawyer): I know people are always joking about girls on reality shows saying they’re not here to make friends, but honestly, why not? Everyone here seems really cool.  
_[/INTERVIEW]_

 _[INTERVIEW]_  
VALENCIA (27, Yoga Instructor/Event Planner): I’ve always been a very driven person. I mean, if I wasn’t, do you think I could be teaching yoga full time _while_ starting my own party planning business? That’s two full-time jobs, but I still find time for self-care. [smiles, suddenly remembering an afterthought] And romance, of course.  
_[/INTERVIEW]_

*****

**_QUICK AND FLIRTY RECAPS:_ BACHELOR LIMO ENTRANCES **

Good evening and welcome to Quick and Flirty, the speediest and splendidest Bachelor recap blog in the land! This is part one of our premiere recap: The Limo Entrances! Our team has been hard at work compiling notes and copy during the episode, and we present it to you now in the midst of a commercial break. Check back about 15 minutes after the episode for part two, the summarized cocktail party!  
  
Without any further ado, a non-exhaustive highlights reel:

  * 28 women arrive at the mansion via limos, fancy sports cars, animals, and dirt bikes.
  * First up is a girl named Maya. Her description card lists her occupation as “Social Media Manager / Millennial,” which says all you need to know about her but also all you need to know about the Bachelor’s cadre of editors. She says the word “hashtag” out loud no fewer than seven times in a thirty second conversation. If she makes it through the night, we can expect to see many viewers create a related drinking game that will absolutely destroy their livers. Nathaniel looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world, and this is only the first girl.
  * Ally works at a grocery store and brings a bouquet of vegetables. Nathaniel is not particularly enthused.
  * Emily P. declares that her last initial currently stands for Parker, but she’s very interested in having it stand for Plimpton instead. Bachelor Nation dies inside, and so does Nathaniel, and Nathaniel’s entire family tree, and probably Darryl Whitefeather.
  * Anna is a celebrity eyebrow stylist (okay) and makes a point during her introduction to touch Nathaniel’s eyebrows. It’s uncomfortable.
  * An actual nurse who does that for a living arrives dressed in a prototypical sexy nurse costume. It is a sexy enough costume that her boob pops out and has to be blurred. Nathaniel seems on the fence regarding whether the nip slip cancels out Jenni’s annoying voice for a net positive interaction.
  * Jessica arrives in a Ferrari with a bottle of Cristal. She’s hot and has booze, so Nathaniel is not complaining.
  * A Stanford alumna, Mona, presents him with a pennant from the school, which he also attended. Nathaniel actually seems happy to talk to her. She is unnervingly beautiful and apparently smart, so that might have something to do with it.
  * Karen is 45 and brought her pet snake with her.
  * Giana throws heart shaped confetti in Nathaniel’s face. It’s not a good look for him.
  * A girl named Olive—a bartender—presents Nathaniel with a martini. It has an olive in it. It’s adorable. He takes a sip of it on camera, and then presumably either chugs it or dumps it out after she’s inside. This is another of the few entrances Nathaniel seems to enjoy. Again, probably because alcohol. He is not as good at faking interest as he thinks he is.
  * Country girl Jodi Ann arrives on a horse, because duh.
  * Valencia (notable for being Bachelorette alum Josh C.’s ex-girlfriend) is a yoga instructor who makes Nathaniel do yoga. He is wearing a three-piece suit. None of it looks fun.
  * Meghan shows up wearing a chef’s hat.
  * Rebecca says a bunch of weird slang in a goofy voice that falls flat, and all of America cringes at the awkward tension between her and Nathaniel.
  * Emily H. is a nanny and brings a picture one of her charges drew of a rose. Not to be too Eleanor Shellstrop about it, but the kid is either two years old or talentless and it’s basically just a blob. One has to wonder if Nathaniel even waited for Emily H. to be out of sight before he tossed it in the trash.
  * Daniela wears a masquerade mask and manages to make every other girl hate her within two minutes. Nathaniel does not appear to care whether she lives or dies.
  * Janelle arrives last, in a floor length dress and riding a dirt bike, and every girl in the house hates her within one minute, beating the record previously held by Daniela.



The editors of Quick and Flirty would like to note that our limo recaps don’t usually involve so much analysis of the Bachelor’s reactions to the women. Usually a strong response is reserved for particularly good or wacky entrances. But seriously, with a few exceptions, our man did a terrible job telegraphing pretty much any appearance of interest in these women. It will be interesting to see how this season—or even just this episode—pans out if Mr. Plimpton is A) uninterested in any of the girls wrangled together for him, or B) just a total douche.  
  
_This has been Quick and Flirty! We’ll see you back shortly for part two of our premiere coverage!_

*****

Nathaniel more or less sleepwalks through the next stages of the evening.  
  
Upon entering the house, he greets the women and delivers some friendly, good-natured speech about being excited to meet them and go through this process together. Someone puts a drink in his hand, and then one of the girls is pulling him by the hand to talk one-on-one, starting an unending chain of reintroductions, attempts to recall names, and rapid-fire tidbits about the women’s lives, personalities, hopes, and dreams.  
  
It’s exhausting.  
  
Unlike his usual experiences at clubs and parties, though, he finds that the more women he meets, the less able he is to feign interest in absolutely anything about them. He thinks that might be more about _them_ than him.  
  
“Nathaniel, you need to shape the _fuck_ up,” Paula hisses, pulling him aside about an hour in, leaving whatever girl was next in line—Jessica, he thinks—pouting behind them.  
  
“Me?” he demands. “Where is this feedback for the collection of circus clowns you’ve gathered here? The snake whisperer? The hashtag girl? There isn’t anyone here even remotely—”  
  
He breaks off when he thinks of Mona, and scowls at the internal interruption of his tirade.  
  
Luckily, Paula isn’t interested in letting him finish sentences anyway.  
  
“Look, buddy, I get it. You don’t want to be here. With every second that goes by, I assure you, no one else on this crew wants you here either. But it is too fucking late, and you are not going to drive this show into the ground just because you’re too immature to be vulnerable. Or, barring that, to treat this like a job.”  
  
He frowns. “I—”  
  
“Because that’s what it _is,”_ she presses on, undeterred. “We are _paying you_ to be here. You are performing a service. You signed a contract. You’re a lawyer. You know what a contract is, right?”  
  
Her tone is equal parts patronizing and scathing.  
  
“All else aside,” she says, “You are being a jackass. Look, I know you corporate types. I didn’t make it through law school by letting men like you bully me into shutting up.”  
  
“Wait, you’re a lawyer?” Nathaniel interjects, startled enough to forget that he’s cool and above it all.  
  
“I graduated law school,” Paula says, tight. “I didn’t take the bar.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
She scowls at him, but answers. “Because I got pregnant and society—and my father, for that matter—told me I couldn’t do both. But this isn’t about me. This is about what I need from you. What we _all_ need from you. Talk to the women. Be nice to them. Pretend like you believe you have even a chance in hell at falling in love. Or I will instruct our supremely qualified lawyers to declare you in breach of contract and shake you down for as many pennies as I possibly can. Then, when you are destitute and ostracized from your infuriated family, I will hire someone to track you down, cut off your testicles, and keep them in a jar, which I will then sell back to you via payment installments with an exorbitant interest rate. Got me?”  
  
There’s a beat of silence. “10-4,” Nathaniel finally says, a little dizzied by the detail.  
  
Paula nods, obviously pleased with herself.  
  
In the next moment she vanishes, and Jenni-the-nurse appears to make a bid for his attention, apparently with any garment malfunctions now under control.  
  
A shame, that.

*****

**THE BACHELOR – SEASON 26 EPISODE 1 – EPISODE TRANSCRIPT**

_[INTERVIEW]_  
Maya (23, Social Media Manager/Millennial): Hashtags really are the language of the future. It’s like, you don’t even know. [pushes up glasses] They’re so hashtag _expressive._ Like, how long would it take for me to tell you that I really feel like I could see a future with me and Nathaniel and that he’s hella handsome and has a stern-dad kinda thing that’s working for me. Like, so long! But if I just say hashtag Mathaniel? [gesturing between self and camera] Hashtag same page.  
_[/INTERVIEW]_

_[INTERVIEW]_  
Melissa (22, Model): [giggle] Nathaniel is, like—really cute. [giggle]  
_[/INTERVIEW]_

*****

As the night drags on and Nathaniel works his way through one-on-one conversations with the girls, those not currently enjoying—or enduring, Rebecca thinks—face time with him splinter off into side conversations. While, of course, imbibing no small amount of alcohol and no large amount of the tiny finger food that becomes harder and harder to track down as the night progresses.  
  
Rebecca ends up blending around the edges of a group of some dozen women whose names she’s still trying to keep straight, seated elegantly on a smattering of couches in the main room, looking stupidly beautiful and put together and making Rebecca feel like a total sloppy troll.  
  
“So how did y’all end up on the show?” asks Jodi Ann, apparently the designated conversation supervisor. “Did you just apply for fun, or did you know someone involved?”  
  
As girls chime in with their answers, Rebecca stays quiet, trying to compose a script for her conversation with Nathaniel. She has to seem chill, and cool, and totally nothing like the ranting and raging loser who had possessed her earlier. She doesn’t have to like him, but she has to make sure he likes her, at least for a few weeks.  
  
Meanwhile, the conversation shifts from Bachelor origin stories to Bachelor connection claims-to-fame.  
  
“John Paul Jones goes to the same church as me,” says Robin, and a few of the girls _ooh_ with interest while Valencia pulls a face.  
  
One girl went to a meetup that Ashton from Sarah’s season was at and _almost_ talked to him at the bar, and another met Blake at that fateful Stagecoach the summer before his disaster of a Bachelor in Paradise season (but did not sleep with him, she assures the others).  
  
Then Olive looks directly at Rebecca and says, “What about you? Any good Bachelor stories?”  
  
Rebecca shuffles through her potential answers. Lying feels like a questionable call. The producers, she worries, aren’t above stirring up drama by providing background info to a select few girls and setting them on each other. It’s very possible Olive already knows the answer to this question and is just waiting for a chance to call her out. And even if she doesn’t, this conversation might air eventually. If she denies Josh now, he might wonder why later.  
  
Plus, a little bit of connection to the existing property is probably good. She just can’t make too big a deal out of it. It’s just, like, so random and such a funny story.  
  
“Actually, this is so random,” she says. “But I actually dated Josh C. for like, five minutes at summer camp when we were kids.”  
  
“Josh C. from Carly’s season?” one of the Emilys asks. “He is so cute!”  
  
“Oh my gosh, Rebecca,” Valencia suddenly chimes in, all perky sweetness and interest. “You dated Josh C.? That is _so_ funny.”  
  
Something told Rebecca it was not so funny.  
  
Valencia added, “He was my boyfriend all through high school and college. Since eighth grade, actually.”  
  
Rebecca’s entire body goes cold, but Valencia presses on.  
  
“When did you know him, again? When you were little kids?”  
  
No no no no no no no. This could not be happening. She knew Josh had had a longtime girlfriend. He’d mentioned her at camp, but they’d been broken up. And he’d mentioned her again, of course, as part of his backstory on the Bachelorette—a semi-recent breakup with a girl he’d dated most of his life, but was completely over and ready for new romance.  
  
But camp was like a million years ago, and on the show he’d never mentioned her fucking _name._ Why hadn’t she done more research on this? Why hadn’t she done more Instagram stalking? She must not have gone far enough into the archives, or his tagged photos, or—she is screwed. Valencia is going to claw her eyes out and she’s going to get cut for medical reasons. Which is like the _worst_ possible reason to get cut.  
  
Before she has a chance to answer, a commotion rings out from the other side of the room. Several other women stand and go to check it out, and Rebecca takes advantage of the opportunity to do the same and escape Valencia.  
  
Apparently, Priyanka interrupted Jodi Ann’s conversation with Nathaniel, and Jodi Ann is _pissed._ Mona and Marti crowd around her, speaking in soothing tones and apparently trying to calm her down. Heather looks on with idle but fixed interest, presumably taking mental notes for future term papers.  
  
Around Rebecca, the other women are whispering, voicing opinions on when it’s justified to get annoyed about Bachelor-snatchers and how to handle it without looking bad on camera. Everyone seems to have forgotten any connection between Rebecca, Valencia, and Josh C.  
  
Later, though, Rebecca still catches Valencia’s eyes on her. Cool. Calculating. Considering.

*****

**Miche** _@chellebell23_  
Wait wait wait rebecca and valencia BOTH dated josh??? TWO ON ONE DATE I’M CALLING IT NOW #TheBachelor 

*****

The cocktail party has been in full swing for a while before Rebecca decides she has to try to talk to Nathaniel again. He’s been kept busy with the other women, all of whom are apparently very eager to chat with him, seeing as he evidently hasn’t mocked or belittled any of them. To their faces. Yet.  
  
She takes a deep breath. Nathaniel Plimpton III is undoubtedly a complete and utter douchebag whom she’d happily hit with a chair, but she has to salvage this situation. If he sends her home tonight, she doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting picked to be the Bachelorette, no matter what Paula does. She probably won’t even make it to Paradise, and Paradise would be worthless anyway, because—  
  
Anyway, she’s going to talk to stupid Plimpton. Schmooze him, charm him, whatever. It’ll be just like all the smarmy old dudes she has to flirt with to get shit done in her cases. Deeply unpleasant, but manageable. She’ll be busty and giggly and agreeable and try to keep the vomit in her mouth to a minimum.  
  
It’s probably a really good plan, too, right up until the point where it involves actually interacting with Nathaniel.  
  
“Hey,” she says, finding him curled up on the couch with—uh, what’s her name?—oh, right, with Liz. His arm is around her shoulders, and he’s pretending to listen intently to whatever she’s saying, eyes slightly glazed over. Both of them look up at her.  
  
She knows the script here, can follow the beats of the story. At least until she gets him alone. Then she’ll have to wing it. “Do you mind if I steal him for a sec?”  
  
Liz makes a slight face, but she doesn’t put up a fight, and then it’s just Rebecca and Nathaniel. Well, Rebecca and Nathaniel and at least three cameras.  
  
Rebecca doesn’t feel comfortable settling in next to him on the couch, so she stays standing, kind of awkwardly, and after a moment he stands too, facing her with an expectant expression.  
  
“So,” she says. “Um, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For, um, getting a little worked up on my way in.”  
  
Nathaniel smirks. “Worked up,” he says.  
  
Rebecca nods. “Yes. I just—have a lot of enthusiasm for this journey and I’m excited to take part in it with you.” She tries to pour on a slightly suggestive tone, hoping it comes off sincere despite the fact that any attraction to him she may have felt dissipated the second he opened his mouth and doesn’t seem to be finding its way back any time soon. Or, you know, ever.  
  
Anyway, half of what she said is the truth. And it’s corny and simple and hopefully enough to get her off the hook and drag her through to next week.  
  
“Right,” he says.  
  
“Right,” she agrees, leaning forward in a way she knows emphasizes her cleavage, feeling her heart sink nonetheless.  
  
“And this little talk is supposed to make me forget that you called me an asshole and give you a rose, right?”  
  
Heat rushes to Rebecca’s face. “I—”  
  
“Or is it supposed to make me forget that this whole thing is a ridiculous waste of time and energy?”  
  
She pauses. “Do you think this whole thing is a ridiculous waste of time and energy?”  
  
Nathaniel actually laughs at that. Or—some huffing approximation of a laugh. Probably the closest thing to human joy he can muster.  
  
“Look, I’m actually glad we’re having this conversation. If I can be frank—”  
  
Rebecca narrowly manages to hold back a scoff. “Oh, please do start being frank,” she simpers, but he barely quirks the ghost of a smirk as he presses on.  
  
“I think we both know this isn’t really your scene. I’ve actually heard of you, you know.” One eyebrow raises as he considers her.  
  
“You—what?”  
  
“I didn’t make the connection at first. For—” He gestures vaguely at her. “Obvious reasons. But you’re Rebecca Bunch. Sampson and Saunders, right? You’re good. Or, were good, until you dropped off the face of the earth a few months ago.”  
  
Rebecca flushes. “I had some personal engagements to sort out,” she says, as prim as she can manage.  
  
He snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “Nothing more important than dropping everything for this shitshow,” he agrees, patronizing and snarky. “It’s like my father always says: those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t function in adult society turn to reality television.”  
  
Before she can point out that _he_ is on reality television, he presses on.  
  
“My father and I actually discussed you once,” he adds, studying her speculatively. “We have a number of contacts in New York, of course, and you made something of a splash with a few of your cases. He might’ve tried to poach you, if not for the whole”—here he waved vaguely—”woman thing. But still,” he continues, again ignoring her attempt to reply to _that,_ ”You’re a good lawyer. Smart, capable. What are you doing here? It’s not like you, uh, look like the typical Bachelor contestant.” He glances up and down her body, gesturing vaguely again.  
  
“Oh, body shaming?” she says, finally able to get a word in edgewise. He is literally worse than she thought. Somehow that’s still a shock. “That’s what we’re going with? Look, just because you and your daddy issues can barely fit into that suit doesn’t mean you can take it out on me,” she says.  
  
His eyes narrow, and she can tell she hit a nerve.  
  
“I’m _trying_ to pay you a compliment,” he says, and she can’t help it, she rolls her eyes. “It seems like, despite initial impressions, you probably _actually_ have a brain. Unlike the other imbeciles and superficial airheads on this show. And running it,” he adds with a half snort, as an afterthought.  
  
He is the worst. He is absolutely the worst person Rebecca has had the displeasure of meeting. Worse than Audra Levine. Worse than Valencia. Worse than all the douchey guys in high school and college and law school and beyond. Worse than every stuck-up lawyer. Worse than every pervy old man. Worse than her mother. Worse than—  
  
He’s the worst.  
  
And Rebecca? She loses it.  
  
She doesn’t make the conscious decision to do it, but she just—she sees the fancy, probably decorative pen sitting in a cup on one of the end tables, and next thing she knows she’s snatching it up, brandishing it at him like a weapon.  
  
His hands fly up, eyebrows shooting to the sky. “Whoa,” he says. “What are you—?”  
  
But he breaks off when she charges at him, practically leaping out of her heels in the process.  
  
“You are such an arrogant jerk!” she grinds out as he dashes behind the couch, staring at her in abject bewilderment. “Everyone here—they are good people, and they are doing their best, and they are doing it for you, you jackass!” She darts after him, but he’s quick on his feet. Around they go—circling the couch, weaving between tables, psyching each other out with feints and false starts. “You don’t get to say stuff like that about them. About any of them!”  
  
“You are—surprisingly nimble,” he manages, somewhere on the way to out of breath.  
  
That’s when Rebecca manages to catch him, vaulting over the couch, flying through the air in some kind of flying-squirrel move, and knocking him flat on his back.  
  
His eyes are blown wide as she straddles his chest, feeling slightly out of control of her own body. She lifts the pen over her head, not even sure herself exactly what she intends to do with it.  
  
No one gets the chance to find out, though, because the pen flies out of her hand, snatched away by—Paula.  
  
Paula pulls her away from Nathaniel, landing her back on her butt, hard, and she tries not to let her dress hike up and flash her, ahem, goodies.  
  
Nathaniel scrambles backwards, away from her, then onto his feet. There’s a gaggle of people flurrying around the room, talking, saying things Rebecca can’t focus on, but it’s still blessedly free of other contestants. But not, despite the fact that Rebecca stopped paying attention to them, free of cameras.  
  
“Oh Paula, oh no,” Rebecca mumbles, eyes burning with what may be the precursor to tears. “I fucked it up. I really fucked it up, didn’t I?”  
  
Paula’s voice is soothing but firm, an undertone only Rebecca can hear. “No,” she says, and Rebecca badly wants to believe her. “I will fix this. I will handle this. Just—go freshen up, okay?”  
  
Rebecca nods, tries not to sniffle. She looks over at Nathaniel, who shoves away the attentions of one of the PAs, short and dark-haired and rambling.  
  
“Nathaniel,” Rebecca says, not really sure where her sentence is going. “I—apologize. For my outburst.”  
  
Something sparks in Nathaniel’s eyes for a second, but Rebecca can’t really clock if it’s impressed or angered or shocked.  
  
“Understood,” he says, and she really can’t read him.  
  
She wants to say she can’t believe he doesn’t offer an apology in return, but. She really, really can.  
  
“Now,” Nathaniel says, adjusting his suit, smoothing down his hair, and picking up the first impression rose she hadn’t noticed on the table beside them. “I have some other women to speak to.”  
  
He disappears into the next room, and Rebecca works to catch her breath, pushing back to her feet.  
  
Pretty, perfect-haired Mona gets the first impression rose. Rebecca gets to spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom trying not to panic-heave.

*****

Nathaniel is more than fucking ready for this night to be over. Actually, he’s ready for this whole _journey_ —one of many buzzwords Paula and the cameramen and everyone on the whole damned set kept pushing him to use in interviews and his discussions with the women—to be over. But tonight feels like a more feasible goal, and Nathaniel knows better than to set himself up for failure with transparently unreachable aspirations.  
  
Finally, finally, his least favorite of the PAs—Gerald, or whoever, the guy who’d spilled the coffee on him and hovered around like an annoying fly after the, uh, altercation with Rebecca—comes and pulls him away from an ever-so-dull conversation with Daniela, who has, at least, thankfully, taken off the stupid mask.  
  
Nathaniel is swept away from the areas of the house inhabited by a myriad of ridiculous, dull, and increasingly inebriated women to a medium-sized room set up vaguely like a command post. The command? Decide which women to keep, and which to send home.  
  
After his brief foray into research, he’d thought he had a fairly decent grasp of the methodology of the show. He interacts with the women. He makes a list of those individuals he wishes to pursue further and gives them the ridiculous roses. The others depart, often in tears. Simple.  
  
But that, it appears, was a naive misapprehension. This situation has more of a war council vibe, a life-or-death tension in the air that belies the absolute fucking inanity of this ridiculous show. Paula and several other producer types pore over their precious clipboards and ask each other for clarification on particular goings-on.  
  
If he hadn’t met the man, he’d be surprised Darryl wasn’t part of this conversation. In broadcast, the show really pushed the narrative that, acting in sometimes-domineering conjunction with the bachelor or bachelorette of the week, he made the decisions, pulled the strings, orchestrated the delegation of eliminations and dates. In reality, that role obviously belongs to Paula. Darryl is probably off somewhere singing with tiny cartoon mice, or something, leaving Nathaniel in a too-bright, cramped dining-room-converted-to-conference-room with the aforementioned producers and a few other members of the executive staff.  
  
There are a couple of PAs as well, hovering around the corners of the room, throwing back sips of coffee with high drama like it’s the only chance they’ll ever get at caffeine as long as they live, but there are no cameras.  
  
“The last thing we need is something bitchy you say about one of the women getting leaked on the internet and generating bad press for everybody,” Paula says when he asks, out of idle curiosity, why not.  
  
Nathaniel splutters a bit. “I am not bitchy,” he objects, but Paula just rolls her eyes.  
  
“It’s five a.m.,” she says. “Everyone is bitchy. Let’s get this over with.”  
  
He gestures for her to go on. “Alright.”  
  
“Let’s start simple,” Paula says. “Is there anybody off the bat you are absolutely sure you don’t want to talk to more?”  
  
“Uh, easy,” he says without hesitation. “Rebecca.”  
  
Paula just shakes her head, making a note on the clipboard in front of her. “Sorry,” she says. “Try again.”  
  
He falters, just a little. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You can’t cut Rebecca. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”  
  
The dismissive sternness of her tone makes him bristle, and he straightens his shoulders reflexively. “Funny, I thought I heard you ask _me_ who _I_ wanted to eliminate. Did you miss the part where she attacked me with a pen?”  
  
Paula doesn’t rise to the bait. “There are some areas where I’m able to defer to your preferences,” she says, annoyingly patient and steady. “If there’s someone you really like, I’ll make sure she sticks around. But occasionally there are narrative and tonal needs that have to be prioritized. Sometimes that means you have to keep on a girl you don’t really like in place of a girl you’re neutral on. Again, it’s in your contract. Not in so many words, but I can point out the relevant sections if you want to fight me on this.”  
  
He shakes his head, frustrated. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. Snake lady.”  
  
“Done,” Paula says with a decisive nod.  
  
“Everyone under...I don’t know. 25?” If he’s really doing this, he needs a woman his mother will like and his father will tolerate. He can practically hear Nathaniel Senior’s disdain for some—most—of the girls he met tonight. But age is a particularly easy target.  
  
_Will the girl’s nanny be joining us as well, son?_  
  
Paula levels him with a _look_ that he’s sure strikes fear into the hearts of her children. Not him, though. He’s a man. A grown man. He’s not afraid of her. He’s in charge here.  
  
“That would be...” she taps her finger along her clipboard like she’s counting. “11 women. So, no. Besides, cutting out a whole demographic like that looks bad. Makes the 22-year-olds watching at home suspicious and bitter.”  
  
He sighs. “Just the horse girl, then.”  
  
Another head shake. “No dice. There’s some messy contractual stuff there. She has to stay at least one more week. Same for Liz, for whatever that’s worth.”  
  
Nathaniel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he says. “Both Emilys.”  
  
“Sure,” Paula says, in the tones of someone who just wants a conversation to be over. She marks something on her clipboard. “Why?”  
  
“Because it annoys me that they have the same name and I don’t want to deal with it.”  
  
Paula just looks at him. “You are _so_ lucky it’s too late for me to murder you and find someone else,” she says.  
  
“Noted,” he says, unable to fully suppress a smirk.  
  
They get the rest of the rejects determined without too much trouble, and Paula has him check over her scribbled list of rose recipients twice before she hands it over to a couple of PAs, a cameraman (still sans his camera), and a girl he recognizes as one of the editors. They immediately gather into a huddle and begin debating and arguing about what order he should present the roses in.  
  
“For greatest impact,” Paula explains, at his raised eyebrow.  
  
“Is anything about this show real?” Nathaniel asks, he thinks fairly, but she shoots him another look.  
  
“You picked most of them,” she says, and ignores him when he scoffs. “Most of what we do is just...presentation. For greatest effect. Do we manipulate things? Sure. Edit in the most beneficial way? Obviously. But for the most part, we work with what the stars give us. It’s just spin.”  
  
Nathaniel shakes his head, ultimately unconcerned. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

*****

**madiSON** _@madispence_  
this is kind of an exciting rose ceremony bc I genuinely have no idea who nathaniel will pick...like...i’m p sure he hates them all lmao #thebachelor

**Mermaid** _@callmemaib_  
Mkay I see you guys talking about how nathaniel seems like a douche who doesn’t care about any of the girls but if I’m being honest that’s my type #problematicfave #thebachelor 

*****

Rebecca knows from her own viewing experiences that rose ceremonies run a spectrum of excitement from mind-numbingly dull to jaw-droppingly shocking.  
  
Sometimes the bachelor or bachelorette makes a call that’s wildly outside the spectrum of human sense. Sometimes a contestant decides to leave or to snatch away a few stolen moments outside of the previously-approved pattern of behavior. But sometimes even the most manufactured attempts at drama are transparent and everyone can see the end of the evening from a mile away, even when left on a supposed cliffhanger.  
  
If you had asked Rebecca what she thought the experience would be like from the other side, and she’d actually given it some thought, she thinks she probably would have reached an accurate conclusion—boring, impossibly long, very hard on the women’s feet in their horrific, man-created high heels.  
  
But no one _had_ ever asked her what she thought the experience would be like, so the reality is an unpleasant surprise.  
  
She’s tired. She’s bored. She’s a little drunk. And she’s bursting with hatefire for the man she’s supposed to be hoping will declare his affection toward her via a half-dead piece of flora sometime in—oh, the next six hours or so.  
  
Even if that last one wasn’t true, though, she thinks she’d be having a less-than-stellar time. Because of the aforementioned heels and lack of sleep and lack of activity as they wait, more or less arranged in a police lineup, for Nathaniel to show up.  
  
Now, Rebecca can’t prove that the timeline for this isn’t always jacked up and poorly coordinated, but she also can’t help thinking that it’s probably Nathaniel himself causing whatever delay is making her stand here and suffer for so long.  
  
A sudden burst of activity heralds the start of the ceremony. Cameras are checked and adjusted, girls straighten their shoulders and fix their hair, Darryl flutters about making high-pitched exclamations at various producers.  
  
When things settle slightly, Nathaniel enters the room, looking more put together and more vaguely charming than he has any right to at—whatever time in the middle of the fucking night/morning it may be.  
  
Darryl blathers on for a few minutes explaining the process of the rose ceremony as if they all haven’t been watching this show for years. Then Nathaniel takes a moment to deliver some inane, totally bullshit speech about how much he’s enjoyed meeting them all and how difficult it was to make decisions on which girls he will and won’t pursue relationships with.  
  
Then Darryl melts back into the shadows and Nathaniel reaches for the roses on the table.  
  
The first few choices are, Rebecca assumes, aggressively middling on the drama factor.  
  
Liz, pretty and generic, is the first to step down and receive a rose and hug. Then Jessica, who showed up in the Ferrari (shocker), followed by Giana, one of the models, and Jenni, the (Rebecca is a feminist, okay, she hates even thinking this but there’s really no other way to describe her) slutty nurse. So, Nathaniel really is hitting exactly the denominators you’d expect.  
  
Mona, meanwhile, is standing on the periphery of the group, holding her first impression rose and smiling demurely, actually doing a pretty good job of not looking like a smug dick.  
  
It’s almost more annoying to Rebecca, as hungry and dehydrated and tired and sore-footed as she is. Mona’s lipstick still looks like it must have been tattooed on. Her hair is still shiny and flawlessly smooth, and you would bet money she’d happily spend the rest of the night looking game and hot and faintly amused in an unpretentious way.  
  
More roses are distributed. Priyanka the rocket scientist gets one, followed by Heather (Rebecca is momentarily thrilled for her friend, then remembers that more time with Nathaniel isn’t actually a prize she’d wish upon anyone she liked), followed by Vanessa, Ally, Melissa, Anna, Marti, Cornelia, Amanda, and Courtney.  
  
Daniella gets called next, and Vanessa, back to standing beside Rebecca with her rose in hand, unsubtly rolls her eyes. Rebecca can’t entirely blame her. For her part, Daniella had re-donned the masquerade mask for the duration of the ceremony, lest Nathaniel forget her gimmick and neglect to reward her efforts with a rose. Beaming, she pulls it off again to go plant a smacking kiss on his cheek. He may or may not grimace. It’s hard to tell from this distance.  
  
Delilah gets a rose. Rebecca starts to get nervous. Olive gets a rose.  
  
What was Rebecca thinking? This was never going to work. And even if it ever was, despite Paula’s assurances, she certainly ruined her chances with the pen stunt.  
  
It’s down to three roses on the table.  
  
“Valencia,” Nathaniel says, and it’s all kinds of insult and injury wrapped up and slicing her like a papercut.  
  
Valencia shoots Rebecca a smug look on her way down the steps.  
  
_Do you have nothing better to do with your energy than hate me?_ Rebecca wants to shout. She might be breaking out in hives.  
  
Two roses. There are just two roses left, and nine roseless women.  
  
Rebecca tries to take soothing breaths.  
  
“Jodi Ann,” Nathaniel says, and Rebecca chokes on air.  
  
Just one rose left.  
  
Darryl Whitefeather rematerializes behind Nathaniel.  
  
“Oh, ladies,” he says, already apparently almost in tears. “We’re down to the final rose of the night. Nathaniel?” he manages to prompt, after a beat.  
  
A deep, shaky breath rattles Rebecca’s chest. She tries to wipe her hands surreptitiously on her dress. Her heart is _pounding.  
  
There’s no way,_ she thinks. _It’s over. I failed._  
  
Nathaniel picks up the final rose in slow motion. He holds onto it, dragging out the moment, finally apparently finding his capacity for showmanship.  
  
Despite herself, Rebecca can’t take her eyes off him.  
  
Nathaniel, evidently, doesn’t reciprocate; his eyes flick around the room towards the remaining women—towards cute Emily H. Towards hot Emily P. Towards tall, statuesque Meghan. Vaguely annoying Maya, quiet Robin, way-too-young Janelle—even crazy fucking Karen!  
  
He does not look at Rebecca.  
  
She is so fucking fucked.  
  
The silence stretches. Nathaniel looks down at the rose in his hand.  
  
“Rebecca,” he says, and you almost can’t tell from his tone that he’s attempting to grind his teeth into dust. Almost.  
  
Rebecca isn’t sure if the camera catches her brief look of abject shock or the actually audible ripple of surprise that runs through the other women—which, rude. She schools her expression into delighted, surprised pleasure and carefully makes her way down to receive the rose.  
  
When she reaches him, Nathaniel smirks at her, like she ought to be grateful he deigned to award her the _last fucking rose._  
  
And, well. All things considered, maybe she should be.  
  
“Rebecca,” he says, all even-keeled. “Will you accept this rose?”  
  
There’s a mocking sort of challenge in his eye, so she refuses to back down.  
  
“Absolutely I will,” she says, too boisterously, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a hug, perhaps a little more aggressively than the other girls, knocking him a little off balance.  
  
Neither of them says anything at all when she pulls away and takes the rose, and she makes her way back to her designated standing spot while Darryl kindly dismisses the remaining roseless rejects and they parade by Nathaniel with goodbye hugs and tears—honestly, the tears coming mostly from Darryl.  
  
Even though she still feels a little like warmed-over death, Rebecca lets out a breath only slightly constricted by her heavy-duty Spanx. She made it. She’s through night one. She’s one step closer to happily-ever-after, one step closer to J—  
  
Well. To being Bachelorette. To whatever the future may hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An example of my arbitrary research decisions: you know that throwaway line Heather makes about Gloria Steinem? I read the entirety of “I Was A Playboy Bunny” to confirm the validity of the reference. And also because it was really interesting. 
> 
> Meanwhile, I put zero research into a logical way reality TV might be represented in script or transcript format, even though that's a significant portion of the chapter. Yay consistency of spirit! 
> 
> For reference purposes: there are 28 contestants. Nine of them are actual CXGF characters: Rebecca, Mona, Heather, Valencia, Maya, Anna, Karen, Ally, and Cornelia. All the others are OCs. 
> 
> Eliminated this episode: Emily H., Emily P., Janelle, Karen, Maya, Meghan, and Robin. 
> 
> Remaining: Ally, Amanda, Anna, Cornelia, Courtney, Daniela, Delilah, Giana, Heather, Jenni, Jessica, Jodi Ann, Liz, Marti, Melissa, Mona, Olive, Priyanka, Rebecca, Valencia, and Vanessa. 
> 
> \--- 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr! I’m [@romansuzume!](https://romansuzume.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Points for anyone who can ID the myriad references shoehorned into the fake twitter names throughout this fic! But seriously, feel free to call them out in the comments if you recognize them, I want to see how out of touch I am. Disclaimer, tbf, some of them are just gibberish.


End file.
